Record
by anja-chan
Summary: After being kidnapped by Le Creuset during the Battle of JOSHA, Flay lives aboard the Vesalius. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Yzak is assigned to watch her. How can Flay change in her last months and how will she affect others? Canon. GSD spoilers.
1. Prologue

Prologue – Battle of JOSH-A

The soldier ran down the darkened hall, panting. A careless laugh floated after him, followed shortly by a bullet. The man collapsed, dead, falling halfway into the narrow crevice she was hiding in.

Her eyes widened in horror, taking in the blood, the white bits of shattered bone, the grey brain matter, the hole in the back of the man's head. She had to get away, step backwards, but there was nowhere to go. She bolted from the nook, suddenly desperately unable to stay and watch the blood continue to flow, but she slipped as soon as she cleared the dead man's body.

Her attention, previously only on the need to get away, became transfixed by the figure silhouetted by the emergency lighting from the main hall.

"Hoh? What's this?"

If she had been standing, she would have fallen now anyway.

"Papa's voice . . . . " She barely understood what she was hearing. Hope rose up, blocking her throat, until she remembered that no, her father could not be here, he was dead. She had seen it, just like she had seen the man next to her die. The man before her, even though she could not see his face, was not her father.

With more strength of purpose than she had ever used in her fifteen years, Flay snatched the fallen man's gun from the floor. She steadied her arm in the direction of the advancing figure.

But he was already too close. As her finger squeezed the trigger, everything went dark.


	2. Phase One

**Phase One - **

_**Vesalius**_

* * *

Flay Allster stirred before completely waking. She felt her mind clear a little, but haziness still clung to it like cobwebs. Her eyes adjusted slowly to reveal that she was in the seat of a mobile suit, the bare skin on her legs prickling with goose bumps as she became aware of a cool draft floating in through the open cockpit. Two polished black boots stood on the left edge, followed upward by a pristine white ZAFT uniform. However, his head was hidden from view by the narrow opening of the mobile suit. Remembrance and realization hit her simultaneously; she must have been kidnapped. Did that mean they were not going to kill her? Flay cautiously peered out, trying to gauge her situation.

The boots turned to face her. Flay's stomach somersaulted. She scurried back to the dark interior to hide behind the pilot's seat, hearing snippets of a conversation between the wearer of the boots and another younger voice. There was a pause, then his white knees bent and brought his face into view. Or most of it, because a cold grey mask hid everything between his mouth and his hairline. His mouth curled upwards into a small smile that made Flay's already clenched stomach turn to ice.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she stammered uneasily.

The man reached towards her with a quick motion, easily dodging the girl's attempt at fending him off. She felt his fist impact her stomach and a sense of déja vu before passing out.

* * *

Yzak Joule, sole remaining member of the Le Creuset team, rapped sharply on the door. He heard the crisp low voice reply and assumed it was affirmative through tone because he had not actually heard the enunciation of the words through the heavy door. The panel slid to the side, revealing his commander's private room. Yzak strode forward four paces, halted squarely and saluted.

A chair swiveled, stopping as its occupant faced Yzak. Rau Le Creuset stood and smiled, motioning Yzak to relax.

"The Vesalius will now approach the Alliance base in Panama to join up with ZAFT's fleets already in the vicinity. We are to expect a large battle on or around the twenty-fifth. The Duel will be an important asset, so it needs to be in perfect condition. Needless to say, its pilot should be as well."

Yzak nodded as decorum dictated, looking forward to the promised battle, until his attention became focused in another direction.

"Father?" queried a very feminine voice. Yzak blinked. Le Creuset's face remained impassive as Yzak stared in disbelief, realizing exactly what he was looking at, but somehow unable to really understand it was there.

There was a girl in the commander's bed. She was also the most pitiful thing he had ever seen as she shuffled her upper body out from under the blanket. Her dark pink hair was rumpled; half of it had come loose from a hair-tie to fall in ropy tangles around her face. She held her blue eyes half lidded, with dirt smeared and make-up smudged onto her face. The sheets were twisted and her uniform was wrinkled. Yzak paused here in his inspection, his eyes returning to search her blotchy face and reddened eyes. Yes, her uniform . . . . There could be no doubt: Commander Le Creuset had taken this excuse of an Earth Alliance solder prisoner and was . . . Yzak did not finish the thought.

Creuset cleared his throat. Yzak looked back to the masked man, his eyes narrowing. But despite the objections and questions he wanted to raise, Yzak clenched his jaw and held his tongue on the matter out of respect for Le Creuset's authority.

"Is that all, Commander?" Yzak forced through his teeth.

"Who . . . ? Who are you?" With the sound of another voice, Flay was shaken from the remnants of a dream, becoming aware of her surroundings and on the defensive. She clutched the blankets around herself like a shield, looking like nothing more than an angry feral cat. Her eyes darted around wildly, finally settling on Yzak's red uniform. Her face twisted into a mask of fear and hatred so intense that Yzak could not prevent himself from glaring coldly back.

"You may go," Le Creuset cut in, sensing the tension. Yzak turned his gaze to his superior, saluting briskly. He let his eyes slide over the girl's quivering body and disgust reflect on his face. He spun abruptly on his heel and exited the room.

Le Creuset walked to his desk, ignoring the sullen looks from his bed. He sat behind his computer screen and pulled open a drawer. After a lifetime of short telomeres causing rapid aging and the intense pain that came with it, Le Creuset understood that when his chest started tingling, it was time to prevent an attack caused by his genetic defects. Careless of the enemy soldier in the room, he shook two pills into his palm, tipped back his head, and swallowed. Assured of his health for the moment, Le Creuset turned his attention to the girl, studying her carefully. Flay was quiet. He decided to get out a piece of blank paper and a pen to begin. As he held the ink over the paper, Flay could only think of how archaic his methods seemed which only made her feel even more uneasy.

"Tell me your name," he asked gently, but with a hint of steel, from behind the mask.

Her eyes darted to the door, mentally testing her escape. But her gaze returned to the floor, understanding the futility of an escape. Le Creuset waited, understanding more about the girl before him in that single gesture than anything else she had done so far.

"Flay . . . Flay Allster." She hesitated, unsure.

"Hoh?" Le Creuset questioned, lengthening the vowel and looking up from his writing. He definitely recognized the name of the former Vice Minister of the Altantic Federation. Perhaps there was a possible relation? He scrutinized the girl and smiled; he had been very fortunate. This girl had become suddenly much more valuable than he had ever considered, and would now ensure his victory. And she was so pretty….

"Who . . . are you?" she questioned, unnerved by his slight smile that was the only piece of his face she could read.

"I am Commander Rau Le Creuset of the Nazca-class high-speed destroyer Vesalius. A pleasure, Miss Allster. Please, make yourself comfortable and be assured that I will not harm you."

But he never stopped smiling.

* * *

Yzak thumped a fist into the wall. What in hell was the Commander thinking? A mechanic who happened to be in the same hallway as the angry Red Coat blanched hard and turned quickly the other way, removing himself from the immediate vicinity. Yzak failed to notice, too wrapped up in his thoughts even though he did not especially want to think too hard about what the girl implied — _she was in his bed!_— but at least she had been fully clothed. Yzak was not sure what he would have done if the girl had been removed of her uniform, but decided that if that specific circumstance arose in the future, he would stick carefully to regulations: conducting business as he must and ignoring everything else entirely.

His sharp features twisted into a thin snarl. How could all this be happening? First Rusty died, then Miguel, all thanks to that stupid Strike, which they failed to capture because Athrun kept screwing up. Then his helmet had shattered on his face — that fucking hurt — and the damned Strike still eluded them. To top it all off, Strike still had the nerve to merely disable him at the next battle like some idiot novice. Without his support however, Nicol had died, Athrun was severely wounded, and Dearka was MIA. They were ZAFT's Elite, top of their class, yet a single Natural pilot had brought them all down. That was simply not supposed to happen. Now, even their famous masked commander was failing his duties; taking a Natural bitch as some kind of whore.

Yzak shuddered distastefully at the thought, vowing to stay true to ZAFT, no matter how far his surrounding crewmembers fell. Steadying himself away from the wall, Yzak continued on to his room for some much needed rest.

* * *

_Okay, wow, I reread everything, fixed some typos, and rewrote a few phrases to make them clearer, not to mention adding in line breaks. Yeah, I realized I posted this before I switched to Firefox and could do those sorts of wonderful things. Well, hope it was enjoyable. Feel free to drop a constructive review.  
_


	3. Phase Two

**Two**

* * *

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Flay slumped to her side on the bed. Nothing else moved except the analog clock on the opposite wall.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Why did the ZAFT commander have an analog clock anyway? They were more prone to losing time — she hardly ever saw antiques like it. But over the past several days of sitting mostly alone in the same room, Flay was ready to tear it off the wall and crush it under her boots.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

"Aaaaagh!!" she fumed in a wordless cry of frustration. She snatched up the pillow lying in front of her face and threw it across the room. It hit the lower half of the clock, but fell harmlessly to the floor.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Flay stared at the fallen cushion, still feeling frustrated, but now childish as well. She stood to retrieve the object of her vented anger.

_Tick. Tick. Bleep!_

Flay jumped, her startled glance falling first on the hated clock that had never beeped at her before, then to the low hum of the computer on the desk. For the first time despite Flay's numerous attempts, the thin screen lit up and resolved itself into the image of a rather pretty boy. Flay peered at the large blue eyes and silky blond hair, surprised to see he must be near her own age.

He looked back curiously, but his eyes retained an air of coolness that made him seem older. He opened his mouth to presumably ask a question just as the door opened.

Flay spun around like a thief caught stepping into the infrared security lasers. Le Creuset's mouth grew thin and hard as he presumably caught sight of the boy behind her. The lights of the screen peeped out from either side of Flay's body.

Le Creuset moved like lightning to the desk. He seized Flay by the wrist and dragged her to the center of the room and out of view of the screen. Flay struggled uselessly to free herself from his painful grasp, yelping weakly.

"You're hurting me . . ." she gasped.

The mask looked down on her. Le Creuset slowly released his fingers, regaining his calm, but leaving three dark marks imprinted on her skin. He walked to the desk and behind the flat screen.

"Who was —" the boy began, but his voice was cut off as Le Creuset touched the screen, obviously switching menus.

"Send Yzak Joule to my quarters at once," he said authoritatively. His mask moved slightly and Flay knew he was looking at her.

"Tell him to bring a spare uniform. Female. Size . . . four," Le Creuset continued. Flay blushed, feeling like his eyes had just undressed her and she was suddenly very afraid.

"That is all," Le Creuset finished. He switched the menu back to the young boy who looked sullen. Le Creuset did not give him a chance to speak, cutting in quickly, but with a patient lilt to his voice.

"Please wait for several moments, Rey. This should take only a few minutes. Then I would like to hear what you have been up to." Flay could have sworn that his lips curled into a smile that for once did not make her skin crawl. "I will contact you. Please stay where you are."

Le Creuset flipped another switch, the light reflecting off his mask abruptly fading out. He turned to face Flay, who was trying to seem busy inspecting the three bruises left on her arm. He waited until she looked up. With his room-filling presence and Flay's own insecurities, he did not have to wait long.

"Miss Allster, it would greatly benefit you to keep out of my business." He paused, making it clear that she must hang on to his every word. "Do not attempt —"

A rap sounded on the door, which opened seconds later to admit Yzak Joule. He strode in four paces before saluting. He kept his cold eyes fixated on his commander as he presented the neatly folded green uniform, but still managing to feel triumphant on the inside. Both the girl and Le Creuset had looked up at him quickly, and he had the impression they had been staring deeply into each other's eyes before he had interrupted.

"Sir." Yzak's sharp voice echoed loudly in the small room. Le Creuset motioned with a white glove for him to relax his posture.

"Please give that to Miss Allster and escort her to the ladies room where she will outfit herself appropriately," Le Creuset informed the pale boy nonchalantly, ignoring Yzak's murderous blue eyes. "And, Yzak, it is best if she is not seen until she does so."

With forced effort, Yzak marched stiffly to Flay's position in the center of the room where Le Creuset had deposited her and unceremoniously dumped the uniform into her arms. Flay scrambled to catch the garments before they fell due to Yzak's lack of care. Once she had them all clutched in her arms, she awkwardly got to her feet.

Le Creuset watched Yzak turn and walk to the door, neglecting to tell his captive to follow. She hesitated until another wave of the white glove assured her release. Gripping her new clothes to her chest, she scurried out the doorway as Yzak turned left in the hallway. The door slid shut behind her.

Flay took in her new surroundings, suddenly afraid. What if someone other than the commander or her escort saw her? Would she be put to death? Or sent to some kind of quarters more suitable for an enemy soldier? Flay remembered the pink-haired Coordinator girl whom the Archangel had picked up. Murrue Ramius had allowed the girl to stay in a nice room, although Flay had never understood how she had been permitted to wander around. However, the position was now reversed and Flay supposed she was even more likely to be sent to some barred room in the lower hold than that Coordinator. At the time, Flay had not understood the difference between being a soldier or a civilian, but now the distinction seemed enormous. Even though she had joined the Earth Alliance to keep Kira fighting for her, she realized anyone else would assume she wanted to kill Coordinators, when really, she had only wanted Kira to kill them for her. So why was the commander on board this ZAFT ship so… nice to her? While she did not feel comfortable voicing these questions to the intimidating Le Creuset, she suddenly felt that perhaps the boy leader her would perhaps answer her questions. After all, he did not give off a creepy aura or hide his face, even though she figured he had a legitimate reason if he wanted to.

"Hey . . ." she began in a voice that sounded to Yzak a lot like a whimper. He ignored her, keeping his hold on the conveyor handhold and hoping she would shut up.

"Why is ZAFT keeping me here? I mean, without locking me up," Flay continued in the silence that emanated from Yzak's back. She hurried a little to move closer to him, glancing sideways to his face. Yzak refused to look at her, instead answering while staring straight ahead.

"If it were up to me, you wouldn't," he stated curtly, "However, I make it a policy not to question my superiors."

Flay winced and let her hand slip until she was several feet behind him on the conveyor. Of course, she should have known that the Coordinator would not be nice. She kept her eyes down on Yzak's floating heels, lost in her thoughts about her current position on the Vesalius.

Yzak released his hand from the conveyor and steadied himself against the wall, halting immediately. Flay scrambled at the wall, trying her best not to bump into the solid red back in front of her.

"What is it?" she asked, peering again at his face. Yzak wore a livid scar and an intent expression, holding up a hand to bid her to be quiet. Flay bit her lip, then felt her heart miss a beat as she heard voices. They were faintly echoing down the hall. She realized that her "escort" must have heard them much sooner than she had. Were Coordinators really that much more superior to Naturals?

Her ponderings were rudely interrupted when Yzak seized her already bruised wrist harshly and dragged her down a side hallway.

"Say a word and I will pretend I have just found you and will kill you," he said. His icy eyes told her he was not playing around. Flay nodded mutely, swallowing reflexively into the frozen pit of her stomach.

The voices came closer, and Flay could make out snippets of conversation.

". . . pressure on Orb to join . . ."

". . . despise their so-called neutrality, but I still. . ."

"I agree. I'd rather have them on our side than with the EA."

"Yeah, apparently they crafted that damned Legged Ship as well as . . . "

The voices faded off down the corridors. Flay breathed a sigh of relief to which Yzak shot her a look of disgust. His sneer returned to a near expressionless mask as he walked back to the hallway. Flay followed obediently behind.

Suddenly, Yzak stopped again. Flay held her breath and strained her ears for any sounds. Nothing. Yzak turned and glared.

"Well?! What the hell are you doing? Get changed already!" Yzak's voice came out as an angry hiss. He gestured to a door next to them, which displayed a female stick figure, much to Flay's embarrassment. She hurried inside.

Four minutes later, she exited the room. Yzak noticed that although she now sported a genuine ZAFT uniform, she still managed to look clueless. Nobody would believe she was part of his military, least of all him.

Nevertheless, he escorted her back to Le Creuset's room without a hitch.

* * *

_Okay, there's the revision of chapter two, although I changed even fewer things. It's weird, I wrote this quite awhile ago, so now it's almost like reading someone else's work. Very glad I'm doing this before I finish the next chapter. As always, I hope you enjoyed reading and will consider sending a review._


	4. Phase Three

**Three**

* * *

"Rey, it is important to stay where you are. Do not rush your training. Form alliances with your classmates," Rau Le Creuset said to the blonde boy on the computer.

"I understand," Rey replied demurely, "Do you wish to hear about Gil— that is, the geneticist?"

"I trust you are staying close to him as I trust myself. Unless there is something you feel you should tell me?"

"No."

"Then we are finished," Le Creuset concluded in a business-like manner. Rey nodded once, his golden hair waving.

Le Creuset did not wait for his clone to lift his head; instead he turned the switch to his computer to the off position. Why should he have to continually see the face that he so despised? Was it not enough that he was forced to share it? He leaned back in his chair, mentally composing himself. His current plans were advancing smoothly, his evidence being the current war. If this failed however, which was still highly likely, his insurance plans would at least ensure no misbegotten failures.

Like clones.

He reached into his drawer, producing the small plastic bottle filled with blue and white capsules. He took another pill although the pain had not come yet.

* * *

Yzak was furious. He was a soldier, a ZAFT soldier, an Elite Red Coat, the pilot of the GAT-X102 Duel. He was the son of Ezalia Joule, head of the Defense Committee, and close to his own position on the Supreme Council. Yzak Joule was many things.

But he was not a babysitter. Seventeen-year-old Yzak did not want to watch over fifteen-year-old Natural-girl. He had a reputation to maintain, even if none of his teammates were still aboard, even if no one else but him would know or even care.

But his commander had ordered it and Yzak prided himself on following military law no matter what.

"Yzak, you are to keep Miss Allster with you at all times between oh-eight-hundred hours and twenty-hundred hours. Make sure she eats. At those times she is not with you, she will be here in this room. The door will be locked. If we move to Condition Red, she is to be locked in this room before you suit up. I hope you do not have any questions?"

Yzak had no choice but to shake his head no. He could not do anything else – it had been a direct order. However, he was positive Le Creuset knew how distasteful a task it was, sure Le Creuset could see the fire in his icy-blue eyes, yet the damned White Coat had accepted Yzak's glare and dismissed him with the girl.

So here he was, having taken her to his own room for lack of anything else to do. He hoped there would be a battle soon for two reasons. One, he would not have to play the babysitter when there were perfectly fine detention holdings, and two, he could take out his frustration in a productive fashion. Although Yzak never hit girls and disliked having to fight women on the battlefield, Flay was beginning to look like a tempting target.

She was sitting in his chair, looking morosely at the floor. Yzak got the impression that perhaps she was trying to act disdainful of him, but he could tell from the way she was biting her lip that she was weak and scared. Her eyes shifted quickly from the floor up to his face. Realizing that he was watching her, she opened her mouth presumably to say something, but then closed it, her eyes reverting back to the floor. Yzak smirked evilly, amused by her fear. Flay glanced up again, gathering her courage.

"Do-don't think I won't escape this ship," she said and as if by hearing her own convictions, she became stronger and continued almost regally, like some sort of princess telling a villain that her knight would come, "The Archangel is stronger than you and they'll come save me."

Yzak's lip curled and got caught somewhere between a smirk and a snarl. His eyes narrowed angrily.

"You think you're that important, do you?! God Himself would save you and your little blue world?!"

Flay looked taken aback. She hesitated, fearing his wrath, but then finding her resolve. "Uhhhh. . . no, I- I meant the Archangel . . . the red and white ship you'll never defeat."

Yzak stared. There was no way in the remotest depths of hell that this idiot of a girl would have served aboard the legged ship. It was too good for her. As much as Yzak wanted to sink the damned vessel, he respected it as much as hated the ability of its crew to keep it afloat. Flay sensed his disbelief.

"It's true," she hurried on to dispel his incredulity and with the sudden need to impress him, "I know the captain and . . . and the pilot of the Strike. I know them."

At the last admission, Yzak seized her violently by the collar and pulled her mere inches from the scar on his face. It stood out dark red from the rest of his pale features.

"You fucking _what_?!" he shouted, rage flashing in his eyes.

His reaction startled her. For some reason, Flay had assumed that this pilot had been the one Kira had known. After all, the pilot they had captured had not known Kira's name and she believed that Kira was not willing to strike down his old friend, which then excluded the invisible unit he had destroyed as well as the one he had been destroyed by. She had expected Yzak to . . . well, she was not sure exactly what she had expected, but this intense anger was not it. She thought he would treat her kindly after realizing they had a mutual friend. Surely that was why Kira had failed to kill the silver-haired boy and why he had agreed to escort her, right? Maybe he was just looking for information about Kira? Flay shut her eyes tightly as Yzak shook her roughly.

"I know him!" she confessed, shouting. "He – he's my boyfriend!!" Flay continued, although she dimly realized it was not true anymore. She just wanted Yzak to stop shaking her. "His name is Kira Yamato and he's the greatest, kindest, strongest person I know!"

Two things happened simultaneously. Flay realized that perhaps what she had just said was true and Yzak abruptly released her. Flay breathed heavily into the silence.

"You mean," Yzak drawled, eyes glinting malevolently that made Flay draw back in fear, "He was your boyfriend. He's in lots of little pieces now." Yzak corrected, looking triumphant. Flay saw with a jolt that he was very right.

Yzak watched as Flay wilted, looking like her spine had just been liquefied. She clenched her fists. Her shoulders, from their drooped position, shook slightly and her dark rose-colored hair made a veil covering her lowered face. He felt a renewed sense of triumph at her obvious defeat, until he saw the tear fall, staining her uniform a darker green.

She was . . . crying?!

Yzak was mortified. Although he had recently been entertaining the idea of venting his frustration on his charge, he had never seriously considered making . . . her cry. She was a soldier, pitiful as she was, but supposedly a soldier nonetheless. Soldiers do not cry.

Exactly what Yzak was supposed to do escaped him at present. Of course ZAFT prepared its soldiers with how to deal with the inevitable deaths, but Yzak certainly did not want to try to 'comfort' an enemy for the loss of a pilot he wished he had been the one to take down. Sitting ramrod straight, Yzak furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw as Flay began to sob. Hadn't Strike died last month? Why would she still be crying?

"I-I- can't," she gasped as her body shivered, "Tell him th-that—" Flay suddenly looked up into Yzak's eyes. With the strength of a lightning bolt, Flay knew that his cold eyes could —were— piercing through to her secret once-desire, judging her manipulations, and finding her guilty of manslaughter with intent to kill. Somehow, the young man in front of her knew her crime. She was seized by her own regret and the certainty in the blue orbs above her, and the panic they instilled, because she only now realized what her terrible crime truly was.

Yzak stared coldly back at the girl, hoping she would simply shut up. He watched as her eyes widened and her lips parted in a silent cry. Although she had locked her eyes onto his, Yzak got the feeling she was not focusing on his features, but instead, was looking inward.

"I killed him," she murmured hoarsely, barely above a whisper. Her face was pale and tear-streaked, as she refocused, tilting her face to Yzak in a different light.

She must confess.

* * *

Yzak had no idea what had possessed him to stay and actually listen, except that he was forbidden to leave her alone. Her story, or whatever it had been —admission of guilt— had been slow going because of the constant tearful interruptions, but had still astonished Yzak.

First of all, or at least the most important to him was that the Strike pilot had been a Coordinator who had been friends with one of his team members. Yzak naturally suspected Athrun, his chief rival; it would explain Athrun's strange behavior during battles with Strike. Still, Yzak was glad to know that Naturals were still incapable of becoming such skilled pilots.

The second most important thing to Yzak was that Flay Allster had joined the OMNI Enforcer with the sole intention of keeping the civilian Coordinator pilot from leaving the war. Her aim had been to force him continue fighting until he died. From her very own lips, the girl had said that she wanted her lover dead because he had been unable to protect her father's ship.

From that point onward, Yzak warned himself to forever steer clear of women. The confession Flay had given was somewhat disturbing; he had assumed her to be rather dim, easily frightened, but mostly weak. Rather womanly in general. And while she definitely appeared that way on the surface, underneath she was strong as ice, but unfortunately as unbalanced as a spinning top losing momentum. A dangerous combination, as apparently it had been for his now-dead opponent.

Although, Yzak mused, she now held an aspect to her personality he suspected was new: remorse. How it would affect her conduct now, he could not guess, a fact that Yzak did not particularly like in an enemy. But there was something strange in watching the girl come completely unraveled and Yzak was peculiarly fascinated by her behavior at she built herself anew. Now whenever she looked at him it was with sapphire eyes filled with a tentative trust.

In her broken state, Yzak knew it would be ridiculously easy to completely destroy the whimpering Natural. Probably satisfying too.

But for some reason he did not quite understand, Yzak simply let it go.

* * *

_Well, not much changing here either. Just a few phrases and a single typo. Honestly, if anyone finds a typo in my stuff, please just say so. I actually go back and fix things if it sounds bad or I make a mistake. I don't really have a beta reader, so I try really hard on my own to make things correct, but that doesn't mean I catch everything. Thanks. Hope it was (more) enjoyable!_


	5. Phase Four

**Four**

* * *

Flay awoke, pushing the thin sheet and blanket to the foot of her bed. For a moment, she sat staring into space before she actually became aware that she was awake. She shook the fragments of dreams out of her head, but something still seemed to be nagging her. Something she had forgotten. 

She looked up at the analog clock on the far wall, wondering not for the first time where the masked commander spent his nights, glad that he had never slept there since she had arrived. Rising to her feet, she slipped on her uniform, the green of ZAFT. Despite how much she had preferred the pink of her old OMNI Enforcer uniform, she had to admit that the cut of the ZAFT one was a little more practical, if not more fashionable. Honestly, who mixed lime green and pink these days? Besides, the cute little green hats of ZAFT looked good on her. Flay straightened hers expertly, realizing with a slight start that she had been doing this for a full week already. Again, Flay suddenly got the distinct feeling that she was forgetting something, but she brushed it aside. Whatever it was, it could not be that important if she did not remember it.

She looked up at the clock again; it's analog tick no longer noticeable to her ears. Seven forty-five. In fifteen minutes her pale guardian would arrive to escort her to breakfast. Strange how she always felt both eager and terrified every morning as she waited for him to arrive.

It was easy to understand why she feared Yzak. He was a Coordinator, firmly in a position of respect in Z.A.F.T. and had made no secret of his contempt and disgust for her. While she did not know whether he would physically assault her, she believed that it was probably the punishment she deserved for her crime. Having confessed to him and him alone, she felt that he controlled her fate. She was sure he had already known her secret even before she had told the details, the look in his harsh eyes... she could still see his glare whenever she shut her eyes. Flay shuddered, as if the piercing icy gaze still clung to her soul, and opened her eyes in the hope of banishing his.

And yet, she was also anxious. Maybe it was simply that his arrival meant the end of the monotony of the commander's rooms. She certainly did not view him as any kind of friend or kindred spirit, but more like a kind of avenging deity or death god sent to deal out justice to her. She did not like him, but regardless, she trusted and believed in his abilities to give her whatever she deserved. Somehow, Yzak Joule represented everything Flay hated about Coordinators and he had come before her in sharp contrast to everything she had loved about Kira without realizing how she felt. Yzak, therefore, would be to her as she had been to Kira. And in some strange, twisted way, somewhere deep in her heart, Flay knew that she was going to die. She felt that it would be Yzak to exact revenge, because there was no way now that Kira would.

She straightened suddenly, shaken by the crisp knock. She went to the door and knocked back twice, the signal that she was awake, decent, and more or less ready for Yzak to enter. A moment later and the door slid open to reveal the scarlet-clad youth. His face exuded the familiar sense of disgust for his current occupation, but he hid it as he turned back to the corridor. He still had to lead her to breakfast in sight of other crewmembers that did not know that she was actually an O.M.N.I. Enforcer and a Natural.

Flay followed behind, a sense of familiarity setting in, except... that nagging feeling rose up again, persistent as a cat toying with a mouse. Disliking the feeling because her conscious mind was the mouse, she focused instead on where she was walking, concentrating on staying four steps behind, the distance Yzak preferred.

The two arrived at the cafeteria and Yzak watched her carefully as she loaded her tray with food and handled the plastic utensils. Both knew that Flay would never dare any kind of attack, but Yzak still felt that even if no one else onboard the Vesalius did their job correctly, one silver headed Elite member would still be crossing his t's and dotting his i's. By now, Flay was aware that Yzak considered all the silverware and even the plastic knives as weapons. As a result, her petite fingers did not even stray towards container brimming with sharp plasticware and took only a spoon.

Yzak himself scooped helpings of eggs, sausage, and rice onto his plat, following Flay down the buffet line and then to their regular table. It had formerly been affectionately known as the pilot table (not that Yzak had personally been overly affectionate about it or anything else for that matter) because of the abundance of pilots that used to congregate around it. It had been where Yzak ate with his teammates Dearka, Athrun, Nicol, Rusty, and Miguel. However, as the silver-haired soldier was the only pilot left, everyone else tended to avoid it. Whether this was because of his hot temper or simply soldier's superstition, Yzak was not sure, but it kept the rest of the crew away from the Natural girl who would surely give herself away in any attempt at conversation. And if Yzak were lucky, maybe the curse on the table would kill her off. As for Yzak and his own possible demise, he did not believe in curses.

"Sir?"

Yzak snapped out of his own thoughts detailing the horrific accidents in which the girl before him would die. Perhaps sucked out into space in a huge explosion? It would be caused by one of her stupid Natural friends not knowing she was aboard... but then again, Yzak would not allow damage like that to the Vesalius. He looked up at her.

"What?" came his reply. Its quiet flatness made Flay wince before taking a steadying breath and asking.

"Today isn't the eighteenth, is it?"

Yzak blinked. Flay seemed to grow smaller if that were possible under his incomprehensible gaze. Honestly, Yzak would never understand the feminine gender. But true to his uncaring attitude, he carried on into what, judging by the worried, almost painful, face across from him, could only be dangerous female territory.

"Yes, I believe it is... on PLANT and in most parts of Earth," he said coldly. He was not sure why the date could be so important, but was determined to make her suffer a little. He scrutinized the effect his words were having on her pretty features. Unfortunately, it was not very pretty.

Her face paled dramatically, eyes suddenly downcast. She made an effort to swallow her eggs, but carefully set down the white plastic fork. She took a shuddering breath and squared her shoulders. Yzak watched her carefully. Why was her behavior pattern different today? Why was the eighteenth of May so important? Whatever the girl was playing at, Yzak was not about to give in. Perhaps her whirling top of an core was finally wobbling and in the process of slowing to a halt. Being highly unpredictable meant being highly dangerous to Yzak's mind. He kept watching, his face passive.

Flay did not look up, could not meet the eyes of her captor, for today was no ordinary day. The nagging feeling sunk into her gut as she realized that this important fact was what she had been missing.

It was Kira's birthday. He would have been seventeen years old, if he were still alive. And it was all horribly her fault, her judge sitting directly across from her, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, pale eyes piercing through her.

Flay felt sick, quite suddenly. Eyes still looking down, squinting to avoid tears, she could not help but focus on her uniform. It was dark green, fully, completely, and utterly Z.A.F.T. How quickly she had managed to betray everyone! Her father would probably have slapped her for gallivanting about in the enemy's gear, even though he had rarely raised his voice at her during his lifetime. Despite his death, Kira's, Tolle's, and the hundreds of Earth Alliance soldiers and citizens who had died, here she was, Flay Allster, still pretending she was a Z.A.F.T. soldier because she was too afraid of a man in a mask. Well, she decided firmly, it ended now.

Flay stood abruptly. Yzak rose automatically with her, wariness emanating from his side of the table.

"I'm returning to my room," she stated in a high clear voice. Yzak stared. Now where had this come from? Wasn't she hungry? Was she sick? Or had she been planning something all along for the eighteenth? And he really was not concerned about her, right?

Flay slid out from the bench and began a determined march towards the door. Yzak grabbed both trays quickly and dumped them as he passed through the door behind her.

They were silent as they walked and used the conveyor belts to reach Creuset's room. Yzak let her in, aware of how still she was and how she held her head. Finally, she was not looking down, but straight ahead. Yzak was wary, recognizing the signs of someone with some kind of belief in their own righteousness.

The mechanical suction-like sound signaled the door opening and Flay strode in. Yzak let it close behind her, the last image being her rose-colored hair swishing slightly. He locked the door, and strode off quickly. She could not fulfill any kinds of plans locked in there.

And, after all, Yzak Joule was still hungry.

* * *

Flay knew what to do right away. 

She stripped, peeling off her Z.A.F.T. uniform like she could become purer without it tarnishing her loyalties. Clothed now in only her bra and underwear, she sighed, feeling exhausted although it was barely eight-twenty in the morning. She dug into the closet next, producing her old O.M.N.I. Enforcer uniform, its bright pink jacket somehow managing to soothe her after her purge. She pulled it on, found and green stockings and was about to straighten her hair when she realized she was not alone.

There on the computer screen was the face of the blond-haired boy she had seen once before. He was staring at her, as calmly as could be expected considering he had most likely seen her in her lingerie. He looked away too quickly, his cheeks touched with color, once he realized he had been discovered.

"Y-y-you!!" Flay fumed as she felt her face catch on fire. She imagined she was at least as pink as her uniform, if not her hair. "Were you spying on me?!"

The boy looked up. "No," he said simply. His deep blue eyes showed no hint of a lie and the tinge of pink had vanished. He must be a skilled liar.

"You're lying!" she challenged, remembering her brave self that had caused her to violently change her clothes. "You're lying because you're nothing more than a filthy, cheating patchworker!!"

The boy flinched at the unexpected verbal abuse, clearly confused. His expression morphed into an appraising look after he got over the initial shock.

"I'm not," he said very carefully, taking a deep breath, and very efficiently regaining his calm.

"Yes, you are!" Flay insisted, shouting vindictively.

"No, I'm not... a Coordinator. That's what I meant."

Flay suddenly lost her argumentative momentum with the same sensation one gets when the water is much deeper than previously thought. She shrank inwards and looked anywhere but at the screen, unsure of where to proceed.

The boy smiled gently, as if comforting her. Maybe it was really the glow of the computer, but his face seemed to radiate an angelic glow.

"So..." Flay began uncertainly, "Are you some kind of prisoner then too?"

The boy cocked his head so that his blond tresses flashed golden. He appeared to be considering the possibility. Eventually, he looked back, blue eyes vaguely sad.

"Yes, I suppose I am." His reply was simple and Flay thought she could hear regret in his soft tones.

There was a pause that Flay felt to be decidedly awkward. The boy on the screen had a faraway look – one that she supposed in many ways was true—and did not seem to notice the silence. Feeling tense, Flay filled the growing void.

"Do you think we could escape? Are you somewhere on—"

_Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Flay spun, eyes wide, towards the door. Someone was pounding, trying to get in. Her heart quickly rose to her throat and sped up to match the noise from the door. The boy snapped out of his reverie.

"You locked him out?" he asked quietly.

"No!" Flay hissed, "_I'm _locked _in!!_"

The pounding suddenly ceased. Flay's heartbeat echoed in her ears, drowning out any other sounds she was straining to detect.

"Quick. He's gone to find a key. Don't tell anyone about me," he said urgently. He hesitated before continuing, "My name is Rey. The password for this computer is 'destiny.' Use it to continue our talk at midnight only if you are alone."

And the screen went blank.

Everything in the room seemed perfectly still as Flay's mind lurched awkwardly in an effort to swallow Rey's message. Something in the words 'destiny at midnight' caught her dramatic sense and she felt as if she were an important figure in this war. That maybe, just maybe, Kira's presence was guiding her still.

* * *

_Well, there's the revision of this chapter. Please let me know if you like it, or if there are typos, or if there was something you didn't like, or yeah, you get the picture. __Hope you enjoyed it anyway.  
_


	6. Phase Five

Record

Five

* * *

Flay was left sitting in Le Creuset's chair, mind churning furiously and yet completely blank. She needed to move, do something, but she could not quite figure out what. Le Creuset would return soon, and she did not know what he would do. Anxiety growing rapidly, she reached forward and thrust open the top drawer in front of her. There lay the gun, right where she had discovered it the first time she had been left completely alone and awake in the commander's room. She reached for it with trembling fingers, not quite touching the weapon. 

The footsteps clicking to a halt outside her door was enough to tip her over the edge. As Le Creuset swiped his key card through the lock, Flay's hand twitched over and enclosed the gun. She slammed the drawer shut as if Le Creuset would not be able to figure out where she had got it from and then lunged around the desk and onto the bed.

The lock on the sliding door clicked, allowing a furious Le Creuset passage into his room. Flay jumped into a standing position between her bed and the computer. She stared in terror at the mask and raised the gun in a way she hoped would make a point. Rau Le Creuset did not break his stride and failed to even turn his head towards her, instead preferring to march towards his desk. He checked the computer screen, and after finding it acceptably blank, he deigned to look at her, all traces of anger gone.

"A battle is about to begin. Would you like to observe?" he asked casually. Flay's body jerked, but she kept a hold of her gun. She tried to steady herself, but her arms, hands, and fingers quivered violently. To prove he did not acknowledge her threat, Le Creuset sat comfortably into his chair and held up a small clipboard screen, concentrating on it. There was a several second pause as he must have been glancing at the material, reading it, although there was no way to tell what his eyes were really seeing. Flay suddenly felt hot and dark anger flare up in her chest. She could shoot him right now if she wanted. She could; she was an OMNI Enforcer, and would earn some honor for killing such an important ZAFT member.

"I'm sorry to drag you all over the place, but, orders are orders, so it can't be helped," the masked man continued, seeming to be unaware of Flay's teetering mental condition. He set down the clipboard, but did not look up at her, the barest hint of a smile playing on his face. It irritated Flay. How could he be smiling right now when she was in control of the situation? She could shoot him whenever she pleased and he was _smiling_? Infuriated beyond belief, Flay swore that she would make him understand she was in control and force the terrifying man to do her command. She wanted answers.

"But why? Why did you take me?" she cried out, the mixed anger and fear making her voice quaver slightly. She spread her legs to give the impression of a firmer stance, and therefore a stronger state of mind. He swiveled in his chair to face her, the smile almost imperceptibly growing. Flay's right hand twitched, out of her control.

"You are already living on borrowed time, aren't you Flay Allster?" Le Creuset asked, using the same dark liquid voice. "Back in Alaska, you would've been equally dead if I had shot you or just let you run off." He sounded like he was simply explaining to a child that the sky was blue, trees were green and that was how the world worked. Flay's finger twitched. If she shot him now, he would be bound to give her more respect than what he was currently displaying, right? And she had not died in Alaska, so what was the point of him asking that? She was living on her own time; she did not owe the masked ZAFT man anything, least of all her life. Her finger tightened its grip, the trigger moving a millimeter backward. Just a few inches and his life would be hers. Her breathing came in rapid gasps, eyes widening even further.

"And you would die within moments if you were to shoot me right now… the soldiers would hear," Le Creuset continued in the same casual voice. Flay's stomach lurched, her blood turning to ice. She had not thought of the consequences of her actions. Sensing her uncertainty, Le Creuset decided to tighten the psychological web around her. His smile grew wider. "Or if you didn't want them to finish you off, I suppose you could always point the gun at yourself and pull the trigger."

Flay gulped in air, and realized her uniform was drenched in sweat. The gun in her hands was slippery, especially with her shaking fingers. She should shoot him now. She could still die a hero, but she did not want to die. And would anyone important know it had been her? Would her father have been proud? But would the ZAFT soldiers kill her right away? Her mind worked frantically. What would Yzak Joule do to her? And whatever punishment he gave, she knew it would be exactly what she deserved. Could she face that?

"I assume the gun _is_ loaded." The voice of black velvet smothered out all other thoughts, mocking her inability to function. She had a horrific moment of realizing that she had no idea whether the gun had bullets inside or even whether there was a safety feature she had not disabled. She was inefficient and useless.

Tears began forming and blurring Flay's vision, but she was unable to blink them away. She could not take her eyes from the cold grey mask, framed by golden waves and a mirthless smile below. She gulped air in shaky and uneven gasps, tremors wracking her body. She did not want to die, but someone as vile as the man before her did not have the right to live. Her fingers tightened convulsively, but not quite enough to trigger the mechanism. And despite how much life and living meant to Flay, how the decision and thinking through its consequences for once made Flay terrified beyond anything she had ever experienced, it appeared as if Le Creuset did not care. As if reading her thoughts, the man continued his monologue that was only broken by Flay's spasmodic swallows of air.

"On the battlefield, life is cheap. It's lost in an instant." Flay listened hollowly to the voice, somehow still hearing the sound of her father in some of his tones. She shuddered and felt the first tear slide halfway down her cheek. George Allster had been lost in an instant, in that enormous explosion that had shattered not only the battleship, but also her former innocent self. Flay managed to see the scene over in her mind while still staring out at the ZAFT commander who had ordered it. He seemed to have paused just so she could get lost in her own experiences. "And yet, people still fight for their country… or for justice." With last words, Le Creuset came the closest Flay had heard to sounding bitter, but yet the man still sounded amused, as if he found humanity killing itself off entertaining. He paused to make sure Flay was grounded in reality again.

"But you're not really cut out for that sort of thing," he said quietly, using his smooth voice as if he were speaking to a small child. An image of her father kneeling down to put a warm hand on her shoulder, and explain at her child's face level why she could not go with him on all his political forays jumped into her mind. She quickly pushed it away as Le Creuset shifted back in his chair. His face held a small smile and she suddenly knew she had never had a chance against him. Even with a lethal weapon directed at the unarmed man, Flay finally understood that she could never win against Rau Le Creuset; he would always be one step and many miles ahead of her.

He stood gracefully, his sudden height as intimidating as the crisp white uniform. He advanced towards Flay, not exactly straight in front of her gun, but as if he did not notice where it was pointed. As he passed inches from her right side, Flay's instinctive reaction was to squeeze her eyes shut. She could not look at him anymore, the tears flowing more freely down her face, signs of her understood weakness. Le Creuset continued on to the door without turning. "You may be wearing a military uniform, but you're no soldier. Am I wrong?"

Her small body clad in her Earth Alliance garb shook with the vestiges of tremors beginning to leave her body, adrenaline slowly fading away. It was not until several long seconds had passed when she realized she had already heard the pneumatic hiss of the door opening and closing. Carefully, she opened her sapphire eyes reddened by tears only to find she was alone. Exhausted, Flay collapsed into the chair, without even the energy to sob.

She let the gun drop to the floor and remembered it was Kira's birthday. Then she reached for her ZAFT uniform.

* * *

"Yzak Joule, Duel, Launch!" 

The silver headed teen sped forward, rocketing out of Vesalius and into the air. It took several seconds before Earth's gravity began to pull him closer to the choppy seas below, and he flexed his ankles to steady the Duel's altitude. With an ease that spoke of more practice than he technically had, Yzak took control of his small team, a group of five DINNs sent from another Nazca class in the vicinity for the assault.

"Target is the Earth Alliance Base at Porta Panama." His sharp voice crackled over the radios in a manner similar to a barrage of fireworks. "Objective is the complete elimination of the Mass Driver, as well as destroying the defending forces. This team will enter from the west in order to lure as many EA mobile suits away from Mass Driver, and then provide cover for the Zaku forces as they implement the EMPs. I expect radio contact at all times and that each pilot acts in a manner befitting ZAFT. Questions?"

Yzak's voice made it clear he did not expect any and he felt strangely vindicated when none echoed back across the radio waves. At least his first mission as a team captain would be infinitely more successful than Athrun Zala's. The pale youth had felt extremely superior when he had been able to relay that first mission to the rest of the team: rescue Athrun after his transport had been shot down. Dearka had laughed heartily, but Nicol had wanted to leave at that moment. Suddenly Yzak felt slightly sick to his stomach. Both of them were MIA, Nicol confirmed to be dead and Dearka's body yet to be found. His straight white teeth gritted into a dangerous glower, as he adjusted his team's formation alignment and tried to concentrate at the task at hand. Porta Panama was approaching.

"Form a wedge with me as point," he ordered, watching the Duel's OS registering the other mobile suits moving dutifully to his commands. The other pilots were skillful at maneuvering as far as Green Coats went, but were hardly up to the elite Red Coat status and extreme perfection that Yzak demanded. He was used to working with the best of ZAFT Academy and in order to win the war or a promotion, he would require a noticeable team.

"Joule Squad DINN Three," he began irately, "I said to form a wedge, not a banana! Get your suit in formation!"

Yzak checked his rear facing monitors with satisfaction as DINN Three moved closer into alignment, even though in reality the machine had only been several meters off from the textbook perfect wedge. The rest of the suits made minor adjustments sneakily, as if Yzak would not notice their self-corrections and in order to prevent public embarrassment like Three. Yzak did not bother to point out that he had counted on their actions toward a cleaner arrangement and that Three had only been the sloppiest.

"Five thousand meters until target area is entered," the Duel pilot intoned, even though it should have been an unnecessary announcement. However, Yzak felt little confidence in a team he viewed as mostly incompetent, as well as how he enjoyed ordering others around. Five slightly disgruntled affirmative replies drifted back to confirm his broadcast.

As the wedge closed in, Yzak took the opportunity to finish his breakfast bagel. Having his morning disrupted by the Natural girl's peculiar behavior had cost him half of his breakfast time before battle. Knowing how taxing a firefight could be, Yzak had forgone his deep instinct for respectability in favor of having the energy he would need later. That stupid girl was probably doing something particularly stupid at that moment and Yzak could only hope it was slitting her wrists. At least the commander would know that Yzak could not have done it and be in Porta Panama at the same time.

Yzak slowly emptied his lungs of oxygen and relaxed his shoulders, knowing that he should clear the rose-haired girl and all of her complications from his mind. And while he would only admit it to himself, Yzak knew he would feel dissatisfied if she died. He considered her a symbol of something, even if he was not sure what it was yet. Perhaps she represented Naturals or how there was something unsettling about ZAFT. Or maybe it was because of what she had done to the Strike pilot.

Or maybe, a tiny voice whispered, he was jealous of how the commander paid more attention to her than to the only remaining member of the team. Not that Yzak wanted to think of the nature of that attention, but simply that the greatest commander in ZAFT would be more interested in a Natural whore than in the elite team and missions assigned to him. Yzak shook his head to clear his mind of crowding thoughts, effectively leaving his disturbing thoughts behind. He flicked his icy eyes to the distance monitor as his hand moved forward to switch on the visual communication screen.

"One thousand meters left. Once we are spotted by the enemy, we will split formation on my command and fight independently. Do not, however, pursue enemies beyond one kilometer away from our central location," Yzak commanded, watching the faces of his five team members. "If you do, no one will be able to bail you out of a tight situation. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Yes."

"Understood."

"Yes, sir."

"Gotcha."

Yzak switched off the visuals, double checking to see that the radio link was still on and functioning for each mobile suit. Despite the innumerable battles he had been in recently, his heart still beat a little faster as the distance decreased. The silver head's breath came quicker. Seconds ticked off and suddenly they were over beaches, cliffs, green forest.

"Split formation!" Yzak shouted as the first laser shot came up from beneath them in a small dirt clearing. Two rather older models were frantically scurrying for cover in the trees.

Yzak pulled out his high-energy beam rifle and fired at one, getting a clean blow to the opposing suit's leg. As it fell, Yzak flipped down his shoulder-mounted Shivarailgun targeting headset, aiming for the second mobile suit. He fired again with it, just as the green coats were letting fly their first shots. The Natural suits exploded into fiery bits, a round of congratulating circulating on the radio channels. Invigorated by the easy kills, the soldiers pressed onward, morale obviously high.

"Joule Team! Wedge formation!" Yzak shouted. This time the pilots immediately formed up precisely. Yzak felt slightly disgusted with them in how they obviously felt superior by getting the simple drill correct. Still, he did not want to completely destroy the good mood and leave room for mutinous feelings against him. "Repeat that men, but faster next time."

Several seconds passed before Yzak gave the order to break apart again. The suits split apart like drops of water, fluid and graceful. Yzak held back a smirk at how quickly his team learned what he wanted. Like an unstoppable forest fire, the Joule Team burnt a path of destruction through the lines of the Earth Forces. As Yzak blew apart yet one more slow Earth mobile suit, his monitor bleeped for his attention. Glancing down, he saw that his team was a mere hundred meters from the secondary defense line. There was also an incoming message from the Vesalius. Yzak called his team in to regroup and wait to tackle the upcoming line when the other teams caught up. He stepped off his flyer and stepped to the forest floor as his team landed easily around him. He then accessed the message from the warship.

It was Le Creuset's voice that floated out of the radio and reverberated inside the Duel's cockpit. "I have been monitoring your movements and transmissions, Yzak. I'm sure you will make a fine commander some day… as long as you remember that your subordinates are people who need constant guidance. However, it is indeed a fine line to walk between steering and meddling. I'm sure you will get the feel of the position soon enough. I suggest you keep in mind that your followers must never question who leads them. With as many talents as you have, it should not be difficult to convince your team of this. Good work and further luck. For ZAFT."

Yzak stared at his console for several moments after the message ended. Le Creuset was monitoring him? Giving _him_ advice? Yzak felt sick as he realized his masked commander's intentions were to remind him of his place. And his place was not that of a commander in ZAFT. He may be a leading a team, but as a subordinate, he should not question his commander's orders. His mind flashed back to Flay and her very presence onboard. Gritting his teeth, Yzak punched his console roughly before jabbing a button with his finger to delete Le Creuset's message. That bastard of a commander was pretending to give _Yzak _a lesson in how to lead in ZAFT with as 'many talents' as he had… well, Yzak Joule led by example.

It was a simple fact that Rau Le Creuset was currently setting a poor example.

Yzak flipped the switch for an open channel to his team. "Joule Team!" he barked, needing to take out his anger on something. "The moment the Grant Team reaches the hundred meter point to the east, we move out. Within three hundred seconds, I want our section of the line to fall. I'm sending those coordinates. Understood?"

"Three hundred seconds? That's fuckin' crazy!"

"There's no way we could—"

"Did I _say_ there was an option?!" Yzak spat back. "No! That line will be down in less than three hundred or I will personally shoot you for slowing me down._ Am I_ _understood, men?_"

Five affirmatives rang out, but Yzak had access to their private channels. He did not have to have the sound on to understand that the blinking radio lights were his men complaining to one another. Yzak decided not to interrupt them, knowing he could prove their objections false and believing that their respect for him would grow more. Instead, he watched for the moment their next strike would begin. Five seconds out, he told his team to start moving.

They burst from tree cover to find themselves facing a bare patch of dirt five hundred meters wide and stretching as far as the could see to the left and right. Embedded in the center of the line were rocket launchers, hyper-bazookas, and turrets with beam guns. Just behind these were tanks and mobile suits. Yzak went straight for the center of them, aiming his beam rifle, Shiva railgun, and several missiles from various parts of the Duel towards his target. The firefight exploded around him in a rush. Adrenaline hit Yzak for the first time in the battle and he relied on instinct alone to dodge, twist, aim, fire, shield, and win. Moments flashed by with the beats of his heart; a missile into the enemy tank, flying over the railgun barrage, blinking away the afterimage of the fiery pieces of a mobile suit. Lost in his own world of white fury, Yzak let his team have more freedom in their personal fights as well. The strategy worked well, as the Earth Alliance Forces were expecting a coordinated attack plan. However, Yzak's team had even jumped the gun and attacked moments before the other teams. While it could have been disastrous, Yzak's skill alone made up the difference for his section.

In two hundred and eighty seven seconds after the attack officially began on the secondary defense line, it fell. Yzak felt vindicated, and his team were not sheepish enough to stop cheering and gloating about the victory they had not believed possible so quickly.

"Stop being proud of yourselves for something I ordered you to do," Yzak condescended, but his voice was only half as harsh as it had been before the attack. The men seemed to pick up on this, but still snapped back to formation as the Joule Team headed out again.

"Our next job is provide cover for the EMPs. There will be three in our area. I'm sending coordinates of all locations. They will drop in two hundred and then once activated have one hundred and eighty seconds until detonation. All of ours will go off, understood?"

"Understood!" The response from the Joule Team was uniform and strong, just how Yzak liked it.

"Then get out there! DINN One and Three head to location two. Two and Five will go to one. Four, you're with me. Let's go."

The Joule Team diverged smoothly into three groups and sped off to their separate battlegrounds. Yzak watched the EMP canisters fall from the sky, noting somewhere in the back of his head the rough percentage of those that made it all the way to the ground. It was high enough to make him smile as he arrived to where his had landed. Four ZAKUs had already jumped out and were beginning to activate the EMP. Yzak and his only remaining team member set up in defensive positions just as the enemy blips on Yzak's screen drew closer.

Three white and red suits burst towards the EMP, faster than Yzak had expected. One of the ZAKUs erupted into flames immediately. The silver haired pilot began immediately shouting orders to DINN Four, as well as to the three remaining ZAKUs. These red and white mobile suits were vastly superior to the machines they had previously been fighting, catching the ZAFT forces off guard. Yzak pulled down his Shiva targeting headset, locking it on to one of the suits. Unfortunately, the railgun had little effect on penetrating through the suit's armor. Yzak cursed loudly, deciding to switch tactics and simply draw their attacks away from the EMPs.

"Hey bastards! Look up here!" Yzak took to the skies, luring the attacks into the air. As he did so, he radioed the rest of his team, sending the information the Duel had gathered from the new suits to their units. He also sent the data back to the Vesalius, hoping that the technicians there would be able to take a closer look and let the combatants know the new suits weakness.

It did not do him much good, as moments later, pleas for help and death cries of ZAFT pilots began to stream into his cockpit. Yzak gritted his teeth, ignoring them to instead concentrate on his own battle at hand. Only two of the new models were focusing their attacks on him, the third aiming for the rest of the ZAKUs.

"Four! Get down there and provide support!" Yzak yelled caustically. After driving home the point that the EMPs must go off to his team, Yzak was not going to let the one he was providing cover for be blown apart.

"But… isn't that the Earth Forces Mobile Suit, the Strike?" came the quavering reply. Four's suit moved hesitantly. Yzak's temper reached its boiling point. As if _he_ could not identify the fucking Strike? His face burned and he could feel his scar stretching tightly across his face. His reply brought forth every ounce of hatred he felt for whatever the Legged Ship's mobile suit had done to him.

"That's not the Strike!!!"

Yzak's next attack was based mostly on fury, which was why he realized several seconds later that his flyer had been hit and was about to explode.

"Not so fast!" the silver hair pilot roared, jumping off it a split second before the blast tore the legs off the Duel. Instead, the explosion only accelerated him towards his target as he drew one of his beam sabers. The enemy suit did not have a chance as Yzak sliced the head off cleanly at the neck joint. He turned, still maintaining his momentum as the suit crumpled to the ground, racing to where a ZAKU was struggling hand to hand with another of the suits. The ZAKU's arm suddenly splintered, cords of wire and metal parts that looked sickeningly like sinew and bone. Yzak threw his beam saber, cursing again, but he only caught a glancing blow and the red and white suit gutted the helpless ZAKU. Yet another excruciating cry of pain was suddenly silenced as the pilot was extinguished in the crackling sparks that emitted from the ZAKU.

It happened without warning, considering that Yzak had lost track of time. The ground heaved and shook underneath the metal feet of the Duel, as the electrical charge from the electromagnetic pulse crackled into shockwaves. For several heart-stopping moments, there was complete silence and Yzak lost all visual data. In the utter blackness of the cockpit nothing moved, or at least insofar as Yzak could tell. His breathing rattled inside his helmet, noticeable for the first time and for a split second, Yzak was sure that the Duel would not start up again even though he knew he had programmed in the correct codes, double and triple checking. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, and mentally calmed himself, focusing on slowing down his speeding heart rate.

Then suddenly the Duel powered back up again and the radios were already terribly loud with the laughter and lofty shouts of high morale troops. Feeling like he had his sight back again once all the visual monitors rebooted, Yzak took in his position and surroundings. The enemy suits had not moved, proving easy targets for the ZAFT soldiers. Yzak received confirmation of the destruction of the mass driver, as well as coordinates for where the heavy assault bombers were dropping and the location of the upcoming missile barrage. Victory was inevitable.

Yzak recalled his team, all of whom had somehow managed to stay alive for the 180 seconds between the EMP drop and their detonation. Yzak smirked into his helmet, feeling smug. No doubt this would go on his record. The red light from the Vesalius blinked at him, signaling an incoming message. He pushed the corresponding button to receive.

"Well done, Yzak," Le Creuset intoned, obvious pride in his voice. However, Yzak suddenly realized it sounded more like what he imagined a mafia boss would say to his favorite hitman after a well-executed assassination. "At this point, the danger has passed and I would advise you to let your subordinates have a little more freedom in securing the area."

"Yes, sir," Yzak replied automatically, his mind still thinking about the sinister edge in his commander's voice. Had it always been there?

"Then I will expect your battle report at twelve-hundred tomorrow and we can talk more then," Le Creuset finished succinctly.

"Yes, sir," Yzak agreed, scheduling his evening and morning in his head. He realized the commander was being exceptionally lenient with time, considering it could only take an hour at most to write the report. Hell, Commander Le Creuset had given Yzak a few extra hours to sleep in, if the red coat so chose. Shaking his head to clear it of stray wisps of thoughts, Yzak focused instead on relaying the orders to secure the area, giving the DINN pilots the opportunity to use their own judgment.

Immediately, Yzak regretted it.

With no sign of remorse, the DINNs began riddling the disabled red and white suits with bullets until they exploded. Yzak was speechless.

"How do you like that, Natural scum?!" one of the pilots screeched at the burning remains before moving on.

Like a pack of wolves, the DINN team closed in on a huddled group of infantry. Their hands were raised in the universal sign of surrender, all weapons thrown into a pile thirty feet away. They looked exhausted and thoroughly defeated. Yzak calculated there to be about forty hostages. Reflex allowed his fingers to begin inputting the numbers into the 'plunder' category to be cataloged in the records of battle.

"You didn't give any quarter to the civilians on Junius Seven!" Growls of anger and ammunition followed the cry. Yzak looked up just in time to watch the merciless slaughter of the prisoners. His fingers froze over his keyboard, hovering over the enter key. The cursor kept blinking, ready to fill in his addition to the list.

Had his team just murdered the hostages? He paused, giving his brain time to kick in. Technically, the now-dead soldiers had not been acknowledged as hostages. The DINN pilots were not wrong in what they were doing, and he had more or less been given a direct order to allow them to do what they wished to 'secure the area.'

But a massacre?

Suddenly, Yzak felt nauseous. The world around him almost began to spin, even though he had seen countless people die, countless dead bodies. The smell of blood caught in his nostrils, even though Yzak knew logically that no smell could penetrate the cockpit of the Duel. Yzak felt his heart pumping furiously, yet was unable to calm himself. His pupils dilated and his hands—his own red-clad hands—refused to obey him and continued to shake while hovering over the controls. As he breath came in gasps, Yzak knew that something was terribly wrong.

He felt it instinctually, deep in his gut. Something had left his system. It had been blocking this deeper understanding and he felt jaded… and more terrified than Yzak Joule should ever be.

Yzak had always been able to see the world around him. His observations were clear and precise, and with an eye for detail. That had never been a problem for him. But it was suddenly painfully obvious what he had been missing when he watched the world around him.

Yzak could see, yes, but only now was he beginning to comprehend. And what he was now taking in was that there was something dreadfully amiss in what was happening. The war, the world, the PLANTs… this was not how it should be. Morality was crumbling; he had seen it all around him, beginning with his commander and following through to his own troops. The Naturals had blown apart Junius Seven, but now, here, how was this killing any different?

What, for the love of all that was honorable and reasonable, were they still fighting for?

It was still yet more horrible when Yzak realized that he could not voice these thoughts aloud to anyone. He knew a soldier should never question orders or risk penalties, and even his mother's position on the council would be cast into doubt. But still, the need to preserve the life those who had followed the rules of war was strong. He did not have to like his enemy to respect them. Frankly, he did not even have to like his allies to respect them either. Zala was a clear example of that.

And so, Yzak twisted his voice into one of contempt and aloofness. As if killing people who had surrendered was usual. It normally came so easily, yet the words almost stuck in his throat. Still, it was worth a chance if he believed the casual butchering would finally stop.

"What's so fun about firing at targets that aren't moving?"

A few DINNs paused for a moment. Yzak held his breath, suddenly ashamed that he was trying to trick his own subordinates into doing what he wished. It seemed so underhanded.

"Ha, well, it may be too simple for you, captain, but we can always use the target practice, sir!"

The jovial reply almost made the red coat gasp. How could they not see, not understand? Naturals were still people, even if a slower and stupider kind of people.

Yzak wanted to scream furiously and berate them for being so nonchalant. He wanted to go berserk and attack his own team. He wanted to force them to understand their own actions. He wanted them to not only see, but comprehend. He wanted the stupid, pointless war to end.

But the most frightening thing of all, Yzak Joule, elite red coat of the Zodiac Alliance of Freedom Treaty, son of councilmember Ezaria Joule, member of the esteemed Le Creuset team, leader of his own Joule Team, wanted to cry.

Faced with his own emotions and idealisms, Yzak began to flee back to the Vesalius, realizing that he would probably need the extra hours to try to write the report as impartially as possible. He could not have anyone guessing his mutinous thoughts.

His blood turned to ice. _He could not have anyone guessing his thoughts._ But Yzak knew abruptly that Le Creuset might already know. The extra leniency given right before the order to 'secure.' If Yzak went back now, Le Creuset would have no doubts as to how Yzak felt. He was trapped.

The blue and grey mobile suit halted in its retreat, and turned to face the battlefield again. It was awash in the sun beginning to fall below the distantly rounded horizon, something Yzak rarely saw. Reflecting against the atmosphere, the light bounced back a ferocious crimson. Yzak watched the green leaves turn a washed brown; the earth itself became a burnt umber; and the sky was the color of blood.

Something sank in Yzak's chest, deflating him utterly and he marched back to the cries of victory among his allies, feeling as if he been the one defeated.

* * *

She could hear the missiles falling in the distance, the low rumbling echo it caused reverberating in her gut. She clutched the blankets tighter over her head, more comfortable in the same defensive position she had always used while aboard the Archangel. In the darkness under the covers she had no way to really tell that she was not in the room designated to her by Captain Ramius and that she could cuddle with Kira after the battle was over. He would be too tired for sex, but she would still provide him the comfort she had only recently realized he actually needed. The boom of an explosion ricocheted around the inside of her skull, and she curled up tighter, shaking her head. Kira was gone, and she was aboard the ZAFT ship. 

Flay lay in the blackened folds and thought. Some things were the same regardless of where she was. At that point, it did not matter that the ship was crewed by Naturals or Coordinators; only that she was scared, alone, and in the midst of a battle. Did everyone feel this way? She knew Kira had hated what he did and was constantly afraid or having to kill anyone. Was the blond haired boy somewhere onboard shuddering in fear like she was? Did that tan-skinned Coordinator prisoner feel this helpless? Did it matter whether one was a soldier or a civilian? A Coordinator or a Natural?

The thought bubbled slowly to just below the barrier of her conscious mind, before breaking the surface tension in her mind.

If everyone felt the same, why were they fighting?

* * *

_First of all, I must apologize for the ungodly wait I made all of you go through. That's really mean of me (not that I did it on purpose, mind you), but I'll try not to let it happen again. I could give you excuses, but I don't really know if the other story I was working on would suit the tastes of this Flay-centric audience. Well, fine, here's the excuse and a self-plug: I was working on "The Tennis Match" and it's quite yaoi. If that bothers you, I still think you're cool and I respect your beliefs, and don't read it. If you're a rabid yaoi fangirl, then you can tell me whether you like it or not._

_Okay, enough rambling and self-plugging, thank you for reading and if you find anything (typos, run-on sentences, tense changes, wrong word usage, any kind of confusion, if it says Gouf where it should say DINN, etc.) PLEASE let me know. I don't care if the only thing in your review is that I spelled "the" as "teh" and where I did it. Remember that we're all aspiring writers and at this point for me, ANY criticism about writing is good criticism. As always, I hope you enjoyed reading!_


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